Bridge Over Troubled Water
by TrevorPhilipsIndustries
Summary: She was smart, sarcastic, and as cynical as me. Stubborn as a mule; she knew what she wanted and she knew when she was right. But depression is a funny thing. It would hit her all at once, like a freight train; sudden and with extreme force.
1. A Short Intro

She was smart, sarcastic, and as cynical as me. Stubborn as a mule; she knew what she wanted and she knew when she was right. But depression is a funny thing. It would hit her all at once, like a freight train; sudden and with extreme force. She would live with this sort of sadness like a devil on her back. It hung onto her with all of its strength. But every once and a while, she would wake up and find that the clouds had disappeared. There was a bounce in her step and she smiled as she drank her coffee in the morning.

Those were my favorite days. She would kiss me and her enthusiasm would seep out of her and warm me like the sun. See, life was never nice to me before her. I was born into a shit situation and it followed me around forever. I'm not a good person. I've done bad things. I've killed, robbed; done things that I don't like to think about anymore. I scare myself sometimes. But I never scared her.

Maybe it was because she felt like she had nothing to lose. She had no will to live. There is a stark contrast between living and surviving. She was simply surviving; just trying to get to the end of each day. Maybe part of her wished I would kill her someday. I couldn't hurt her. I saw myself in her. Not the crazy parts that made me hurt other people or act impulsively. No, I could see my own pain in her eyes. She had no family, no friends. She lived in solitude. Some days she liked it. Other days it weighed heavy on her heart.

Living in the city isn't the best for a person like her. It makes you feel more alone; small and insignificant. I guess I was insignificant too before I met her. I didn't realize what I needed until it was in front of me. I had never found someone who could so easily see through my flaws and recognize the real me. I don't think I even knew the real me. She helped me find that.

I hid my pain and my insecurities behind a rough exterior and an explosive temper. But her; she took a different approach. She hid herself away from everyone. She didn't like to bother people, so she would keep to herself. She let the pain consume her, and she lived with it like a roommate who leeched off of her and stole from her. She would live like this until one day, she would wake up and it would just spill out of her like a river.

She would have wasted away in her little apartment if she'd had her way. I didn't let it happen. I was enamored by her; I couldn't get enough. She pushed me away and I kept coming back like a stray dog. She understood me; I couldn't give that up. "I'm broken. Why do you stay?" She would ask me. "Because," I'd tell her, "Sometimes broken things need more love."

She woke up one morning and pushed me out of bed. She told me to leave; yelled at me to get out of her apartment. I was stronger than her. She couldn't force me out. She sat on the bathroom floor and sobbed and told me how much she hated me. I hated me too. But I couldn't give up on her. I slept on the couch for days, and she ignored my very existence. She barely left her bedroom. I would ask to sleep next to her every night. No funny business; I just wanted to be close to her. She would swear at me and push me out of the bedroom.

Until one night she didn't. She cried as I held her. Her pain had taken over, and she needed somebody; anybody. I wasn't special. I was available and she took the emotional support where she could get it. But somewhere along the way, she decided I was special. I still don't feel like I am, but the way she looks at me gives me hope that maybe someday, I might.


	2. Stay With Me

I liked visiting her at work. She was happy to see me there. Sometimes at home she would sneer at me and push me away; I didn't know how to deal with her those days. I wanted to tell her how much I cared. She wouldn't listen; just brush me off. But when she was at work, things were different. I guess bartending isn't such a glamorous thing; surrounded by drunks and coming home smelling of booze. I think she welcomed my presence there. I was there to see her, not to get drunk, though sometimes that happened anyways.

"Charlotte," I called out to her from across the bar. I had spent enough time watching her that I could tell a lot about her mood just by her body language. She was having a bad night. She turned to look at me, and her face lit up; only momentarily. She passed a whiskey to someone across the bar and made her way over to me. "You look like you're unhappy," I told her.

She huffed in agreement. Her eyes looked sad. "I just want to go home." I took her hand in mine. She actually didn't pull away this time. Someone called her over for another drink. I watched her the rest of the night. I only drank one beer, but I tipped her as if I had drank myself under the table. I knew she struggled to pay her bills, but she didn't like handouts. Her shoulders dropped as the night went on. She dragged her feet and the light in her eyes had gone out. She looked to me occasionally for reassurance. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. I knew it was forced, but maybe, I thought, one time that night, it would be genuine.

I watched her as she closed up the bar. I stared at my hands clasped together on the counter and listened to the glasses clinking in the back room as the water ran. She sighed as she stacked the glasses back up under the bar. "Will you turn off the signs?" She asked me. I nodded at her. I looked through the front windows as I flipped off the neon signs. It had rained all night, and the streetlights reflected off of the wet pavement. The streets were nearly empty, and it felt lonely. Well, not completely. She was all I needed for company.

"Well, come on," she pulled me out of my trance-like state. I turned my attention away from the street and followed her out the back door, pausing as she set the alarm. I offered to drive. She shook her head no. I climbed into the passenger seat and sat quietly beside her as she drove home. She was the one who finally broke the silence. "I spilled beer all over myself tonight."

"Ah," I answered, "I was wondering why you smelled like a raging alcoholic."

"At least I don't look like one," she shot back, giving me a side eye. She sounded mean, but I could see the smile she tried to hide. I turned to look out the window. I should have been offended. I was just happy she was talking to me that night. Some nights she came home and ignored my very existence. I followed her up to her apartment and watched her make herself a sandwich.

"You want one?" She asked. I nodded. "Good, knock yourself out." She pointed at the lunch meat still sitting out on the kitchen counter. I piled turkey, American cheese, lettuce and tomatoes onto a kaiser roll. She was already sitting on the couch, watching Netflix. A crime documentary.

"Why do you watch this stuff?" I asked her.

"Because," she said in between bites of her sandwich, "I like the reminder to sleep with one eye open if there's ever a criminal bunking on my couch." Her sarcasm was one of my favorite parts of her. Most people wouldn't dare talk back to me. She was completely unbothered. I stood next to her in the bathroom as we both brushed our teeth. I watched her wash off her makeup and get into her pajamas. She went through the motions, like her mind was elsewhere. It usually was.

"Can I sleep in your room?" I asked. She shook her head. "Why not?"

"Because I don't like you," she said plainly. I knew she didn't mean it. I followed her around as she locked the front door and cleaned up the kitchen.

"You used to let me," I pointed out. It was true. When we first met, she would let me sleep next to her; welcome me, even. She liked the body heat that I threw off. She turned up the air conditioning in her apartment. She liked blankets and fleece pajamas. She would sleep close to me, trying to absorb my warmth. But that was before the depression got the best of her. She couldn't afford her health insurance anymore. She was off of her medication. I offered to pay it; she refused. She said she didn't like feeling like a charity case.

"Please let me sleep next to you," I asked again. She whirled around to glare at me.

"I already said no," she hissed. My shoulders sank and I scowled at her. The rejection felt bad, but not bad enough to leave. I was persistent.

"Why do you push me away?" I asked her. I tried to stay calm, but that never has been my strong point. My voice had risen slightly, and I tried to reel it back in. She looked at me incredulously. She was angry.

"Because I don't fucking like you!" She planted her palms against my chest and pushed me out of the bedroom. She slammed the door in my face, and I could hear her throw herself down onto the bed. I sat on the floor outside of her bedroom and listened to her cry. I had a five minute rule; give her five minutes by herself and then try to talk to her again. I looked at the clock on the wall in the hallway and counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"Charlotte, can I come in?" I said softly. I rapped my knuckles against the door and waited for her response.

"Do whatever you want," she called back to me, her voice muffled, presumably by the sheets she had pulled over her head. I cracked the door open. She was curled up under the blankets, lying on her side. She dried her eyes on her shirt sleeve and sniffled. She didn't look at me when I sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What can I do to help?" I asked her. She rolled her eyes and shut them as another tear leaked out. She pulled the sheets up to her chin and let out a shaky breath.

"I don't know." She sounded far away. I could tell she had run out of words to say. I knew how she felt. It was hard to put into words. At a certain point, you feel too separated from everyone else to even explain yourself anymore. "I'm tired of feeling this way," she cried.

"I know," I sighed. I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. I turned to look at her; she still wouldn't make eye contact with me. She stared at the wall ahead of her. "If you would just let me pay for your insurance-"

"No," she cut me off, "I told you a thousand fucking times. I don't want you to pay for it." I opened my mouth to speak again, and she shot me a warning glare. "I'm not your charity case." She huffed, and turned away from me, wrapping herself up in the blankets like a burrito. "Goodnight," she said quietly. That was my cue to leave. I slunk out of the room before she spoke again. I had my hand on the doorknob.

"Wait," she said, "Stay."


End file.
